


Take a Chance

by d_aia



Series: Try [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amoral Character, F/M, M/M, Presumed Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 15:16:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5053690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_aia/pseuds/d_aia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And Tom was suddenly on a fourth floor corridor. He looked around. It was disorientating. He didn’t get much at first. It all was discontinued. The understanding of the world around him came in flashes: he saw the paintings frozen – the ceiling was grey – he felt cold – his breathing was visible – he spun round and round – everything felt unreal – he was trying to make sense of things – the lights were dimmed – there was somebody else – it was Larissa – she had blue skin – and glassy eyes – her neck was bent in an unnatural position. She was dead. </p>
<p>What had he done?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take a Chance

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters and locations are not mine.
> 
> Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence; Presumed Suicide; Amoral Character. 
> 
> That's it! The series is finished! Thanks to all of you that cheered me on and supported me! A big thank you to all that read, bookmarked, left kudos and/or comments!

Tom hurried down the corridor. It was late and he had classes the next day, but Jör had said something right before Tom was supposed to leave. Apparently, someone was trying to get in the Chamber through the bathroom, but hadn’t managed it so Jör was pretty relaxed about the whole thing. The only problem was that Tom wasn’t so at ease with somebody knowing the location of the Chamber and the only thing lacking was their ability to speak Parseltongue. Further inquiries resulted in no further information and Tom staying up much later than planned. So late, in fact, that he was hoping for two, two and a half hours of sleep at most. He accelerated down a bend when he felt the sting of a white hot liquid splashing on him and…

And Tom was suddenly on a fourth floor corridor. He looked around. It was disorientating. He didn’t get much at first. It all was discontinued. The understanding of the world around him came in flashes: he saw the paintings frozen – the ceiling was grey – he felt cold – his breathing was visible – he spun round and round – everything felt unreal – he was trying to make sense of things – the lights were dimmed – there was somebody else – it was Larissa – she had blue skin – and glassy eyes – her neck was bent in an unnatural position. She was dead.

What had he done?

No! He hadn’t done anything, he would have remembered. Tom’s first instinct was to run away. It wasn’t his problem. But then again, he had been… dosed with something, so there might be evidence that would eventually point to him. Maybe he had even been coerced by magical means into doing it. He wouldn’t, however, allow himself more than one second to explore the idea that he might have gone insane and actually killed Larissa, not because his bleeding heart never entertained the notion, but because he was a lot more careful and more in control of his temper, especially these past two years, to do so in such a hurried manner.

However, even if he was innocent—oh, how it galled to use the word to refer to him—who would believe him?

The whole school was a little afraid of him, especially after defeating that _supposedly_ Dark Lord and he had never particularly cared to dislodge that opinion of him.  Plus, that spat they had when Larissa broke up with him. It was even in the Great Hall. Damn that foolish girl and her cited insurances! The only thing it ever got her was the closest approximation of ‘murdered in a ditch’ that their world had.

Speaking of Larissa, he should really make sure she was dead. In fact, his sort-of-conscience that sounded remarkably like Harry demanded that he go and check her pulse. Yes, well Tom wasn’t going _that_ because he wasn’t stupid, but he had to admit that being certain the dead girl was… _dead_ qualified as a good idea. So, with a flick of his wand, he murmured a spell used by the healers in places like St Mungo’s or even by smarter Aurors and curse breakers in the field to check for vital signs. Harry had taught it to him in one of his visits. The spell showed that her heart had stopped beating and her lungs had stopped functioning. Tom, in a usual display of contrariness, found himself more centered after using the spell. The stability had nothing to do with the assurance of Larissa’s death, which seemed evident in the first place, but with the reminder that the time when he could only count on his knowledge was gone. Not that it applied overmuch in this case, but it was a comforting thought to have.

Tom took a deep breath. He cast ‘tempus’: two hours before the beginning of breakfast; one and a half, give or take, before anybody would be up. That meant that he had lost half an hour. Calm, he released the breath, paused and took another one. He had time and would not make a mistake because he panicked. It was one of the few situations that required his complete focus; where it was vital that he be methodical and careful and fast. Tom would be all of that.

With that, Tom didn’t linger. He cast a spell on his wand to tell him what sort of spells he had cast in the last week. Lo and behold, on the parchment that appeared out of thin air, there were several spells that he didn’t remember using, including a new spell—curse, maybe—by the name ‘Concretus refrisco’, which would be kind of hard for him to use, considering that he had no idea that the spell even existed. And again, the problem lay in convincing people.

He could be persuasive, even manipulative, when the situation required it, but he was Head Boy and Hogwarts’ brightest student, a student with the reputation of knowing all there was to know about the Wizarding World, especially spells. No one would believe that he had missed one, no matter how idiotic the belief sounds. No, he had to hide the circumstances of Larissa’s death and no, it didn’t matter that by doing so he made it possible for her true killer to get away with it. He would find them and get revenge. Mostly for doing whatever they did to Tom, but he was sure to make them suffer and that should be enough for Larissa too. He didn’t mind piling on. As he his thoughts were whirring in his head, he winced when his eyes went over one ‘Reducto’. That was nasty.

Tom got to work. His wand was moving so fast, it was like one of those machine guns that muggles had invented. It acquired a fine tremble and became warm in his hands. Dozens upon dozens of spells flew out of it in different directions almost as soon as he thought them. Spells and charms and curses. To modify the list, to erase all traces of magic, to move the body near a staircase, to ‘obliviate’ the paintings, to keep Hogwarts—itself—dormant and unaware, to clear the air, to hide his presence there on any magical artifacts, any and every possible avenue that he could think of that could aid in capturing him was modified, hidden or removed. And then the trace of his magic, used for doing all the changes, was carefully expunged. Going back to his room was another round of thinking and spell work, but he did it. Tom cast tempus again: ten minutes until anyone woke up. Good, that was good.

By that time, Tom was truly tired and was likely to show it, which would raise eyebrows. Who killed the student in the middle of the night? Well, the person who is exhausted at breakfast, of course. ‘Pepper up’ potion could be detected, and if he was a teacher at the school detecting the potion would be his next step. So, with a heavy heart, he gave up the idea that he could get out of this without any sort of sacrifices and got out the Time Turner he kept for emergencies.

Had he forgotten anything? Not likely. Was there something more he could do? Probably. Could he think of anything else? No. Fine. Damn it, but fine. Now, to sleep. Seven turns should be enough.

After going back in time, he destroyed the Time Turner using a highly corrosive potion to liquefy it and then ‘Tergeo’ to get rid of the remains. Another modification to the wand’s activity and then another to erase any evidence of tampering. He was as ready as he could get. For now, he would go to bed and, in the morning, be present at breakfast. If anything else should come up, he’d handle it. Harry did say that in his timeline Tom was an obviously deranged man, but somehow managed to conquer the Ministry and if Tom found a way while being insane, he will find a way when he had all his faculties.

_After all,_ Tom chuckled bitterly, _he was innocent._

*

Next morning found Tom digging into a platter of red grapes. He had a plan. It was genius. Also, he happened to like grapes and he was hungry after last night. That was slightly less important.

“Morning, Tom!” Julian announced while dropping down to sit on a bench. “Fond of grapes this morning?”

Tom froze. It was studied, but pretty good. “I… may or may not have,” he started, elongating the words like he was hesitating, “dreamt about eating them.”

Julian snorted. “Living up the dream?”

“Yes,” Tom said primly and ate another.

“Have you heard?”

Tom raised an eyebrow to show that he hadn’t.

“Your girl, Larissa, took a tumble down the steps last night,” Julian said quietly.

It was now Tom’s turn to snort. “That’s impossible,” he said dismissively. “You know as well as I do that Hogwarts has spells against that sort of thing.”

Julian released a breath slowly and a grin started blooming on his face. “Yes, I know.”

Tom frowned at Julian and opened his mouth to ask about his odd breathing habits, but he didn’t get to form a word before somebody hauled him up of his chair. Almost yanked him off his feet. Startled and outraged, Tom tried his best to see his attacker: it was Dumbledore. Tom should have expected this and was kind of disappointed that he hadn’t. 

“Release me,” Tom calmly said.

“You killed a student,” said Dumbledore, looking like he barely had any control left. His hands were claws on Tom’s arm. “And you are not getting away with it.”

“Who—” Tom started asking but interrupted himself. He turned to Julian for confirmation, eyes carefully wide, but presenting a calm mask nonetheless. “Larissa?!”

 Julian nodded. He seemed fearful, but not _of_ him— _for_ him. How things had changed…

“I didn’t—” Tom was interrupted by a forceful tug. “I ask you to please let me go,” he said through clenched teeth.

Another tug and Tom felt Dumbledore’s nails dig in. Tom was suddenly hit by the thought that he hadn’t felt pain in a similar context since he had been six. The orphanage staff and the children had learned that he was too weird and dangerous to abuse. It was funny. For a moment there, he had almost forgotten: thought he was four, defenseless once again, and started panicking. 

“You are hurting me,” Tom said, his voice as clear as he could make it. “You are a professor and not an auror, so you have no right to manhandle me; even less right to hurt me. Please let go or I’ll be forced to defend myself.”

Tom’s last words echoed in the sudden silence of the Great Hall. He saw from the corner of his eye Professors Burke, Killange and Qusio rise from their seats. Tom turned to see the High Table better and was treated to the sight of Dippet, gaping like a fish. A little more unlikely and thus more precious was Rootenhaus who had an oddly blank expression on his face.

But Tom couldn’t trust them to act, couldn’t trust them to face Dumbledore, so Tom shook his wand from its holder in his sleeve. He turned back to see as much of Dumbledore as possible. A few gasps were heard. Then the air was filled once again with silence and tension.

“ _Sir!_ ” thundered a voice. “Holster your wand immediately!”

The voice made Tom jump, but in about a second he had his wand back in his sleeve.

“ _I said immediately!_ ” the same voice rang through the Great Hall again.

Couldn’t the woman see that Tom had—oh! She meant Dumbledore; Dumbledore, who still had his wand out and showed no signs of holstering it. Tom noted that was a good time as any to worry. A minute went by, then two. Finally and very reticently, Dumbledore made his wand disappear with a flick of his fingers. He still hadn’t let Tom go, but that only made Tom wince visibly to point it out.

“For Merlin’s sake, man, let the boy go!” the voice said, more calmly.

“He ki—should be a suspect in the killing you are investigating, Auror Moody,” Dumbledore said from between gritted teeth.

Tom didn’t think it was safe to look away from Dumbledore, but a shuffling of light steps announced Auror Moody’s arrival.

“Aye,” Moody confirmed. “If this is Mister Riddle, then he’s somebody we should talk to. Now, why don’t you let the boy go and let us do our jobs.”

“He did it,” Dumbledore insisted.

“Maybe,” Moody said. “Not your job either way.”

“I am the destroyer of Grindelwald and—”

“That may be, _sir_ ,” Moody said, interrupting Dumbledore, “but that was war time and, besides that, you had a personal relationship with the man. Your duel could have had multiple causes. Now is a time of peace, one that we have because of you.” She tried her best, but Tom could tell that words weren’t what she excelled at and she was annoying Dumbledore more by the second. “You don’t need to worry about keeping the balance anymore; you can rest easy and let us handle it. We are all thankful, but it falls on the Aurors to find out who killed who.”

Tom hurriedly bit his tongue to silence his laughter. Merlin’s beard, who was this woman? Tom could almost see Dumbledore’s red beard burst in flames of rage. Once the fingers on his arm clamped so hard, Tom suppressed a groan of pain. He realized that there might be blood. It certainly felt like it. He must have shown it somehow, because no sooner had he felt that Moody was at it again.

“Sir, you have three seconds to release the boy before I arrest you,” growled Moody.

Ah, that sounded like it fit more than platitudes. In less than a second, Tom was free. He turned to see an auror of indiscernible age, anywhere between late twenties and early sixties, grey eyes, dark hair, and a long scar on the left side of her face. Tom had a feeling the something vicious had just missed her eye. She wasn’t tall, nor was she short, but she carried herself with such authority that she ended up looking imposing regardless of height, weight, or magical power. 

“Are you alright, laddie?” Moody asked softly.

Gently patting at his arm, Tom nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

“Now,” Moody said gently, “would you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Good,” Moody said approvingly. “We’ll go to my partner. I expect we’ll have privacy.” She aimed a glare toward Dumbledore. Carefully pushing Tom in front of her as they exited the Great Hall, she boldly turned her back to Dumbledore.

A short walk and they reached an unused classroom on the first floor.

“Ey?” Moody asked her partner.

“On his way,” the man said calmly.

“Very well,” Moody said. “This is Mister Riddle. Mister Riddle, this is my partner Auror Nott.”

“Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Likewise,” Nott responded in the same tone of voice. Maybe bored, maybe dry, mostly calm; unruffled. It looked like it would take much to fluster him. He was completely forgettable—dark of hair, dark of eye, pale complexion—except for that air of tranquility. That was unsettling at best.

“Please sit down,” Moody said and gestured toward a nearby desk. “Do you want a glass of water? Pumpkin juice?”

“Honestly ma’am,” said Tom with his best aw-shucks voice, “I’d rather get it over with as soon as possible.”

“Of course,” soothed Nott. “Shouldn’t take too long.”

“Do you know what happened to Ms. Potter?” Moody asked in a low voice.

“I…” Tom trailed off and then sheepishly said, “I found out?”

“Hogwarts,” Nott said.

Tom shrugged and nodded. Then apparently, as if thinking better of it, he said, “Yes, sir.”

“Do you know what happened?” Moody asked gently.

“No, not exactly,” Tom said.

“What do you know?” Nott asked.

“I know that she fell down the stairs.” Tom realized that they could hear him lie by the way their expressions tightened a little. In the same quiet voice, without letting them know that something was wrong, he continued, “I mean, that’s what people think anyways, but that can’t be possible. Hogwarts has spells against it. Even if somebody pushed her, the stairs would turn into slides. It’s meant to prevent accidents.”

Their expressions cleared, evidently they either expected the Head Boy to know or they found out about his reputation.

“That’s all?” Moody asked to make sure.

“I…” Tom bit his lower lip. “I mean this I don’t know, but… she must’ve broken something important, right? Otherwise, people wouldn’t say that she fell, they’d say that she was stabbed or cursed. And the only truly serious things you can break are the neck and the spine. The spine can be healed. So, I guess I’m pretty certain that she broke her neck.”

“You didn’t need to tell us what you suspect, that is not what we’re asking,” Nott said. “However, your logic is sound.”

Tom didn’t know how to answer that. He went with the safest option. “Thank you.” And because he still wasn’t convinced that was a compliment. “I think.”

Nott gave his a tranquil smile, while Moody snorted.

“Did you hear anything last night?” Moody asked.

“No, I was in bed.” Tom seemed to think a bit, reddened a little, then said the most obvious lie so far. “Asleep.”

Moody remained affable and asked. “Can we see you wand? We want to run some tests.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Tom handed over the wand and the parchment appeared.

Swallowing with great difficulty her chuckles, Moody said, “Asleep at a reasonable hour, I assume.” She paused and a few chuckles escaped before she got them under control. “After some physical activity, I see.”

Because among those innocuous spells, Tom had added the lubrication spell. It was widely known by boys of all ages and was used for a variety of reasons: for example to masturbate. He put a pretty specific one there too, his favorite. “Yes, ma’am.” He blushed violently _and_ he did it in a convincing manner because he really was embarrassed. Personally, Tom thought that it was a small price to pay for the Aurors not to look too close at the parchment.

“Strawberry flavored,” Nott said placidly.

It had absolutely no connection with Harry’s shampoo. Oh lord, this seemed a lot easier when he was standing next to a dead body. Tom put his head in his hands for a second, before facing them again.

Suddenly—because Tom wanted the interview to be as brief as possible—he had a sobering thought. “It seems rather… wrong now, doesn’t it?”

“Oh dearie,” Moody said, sympathy written all over her face. She took a deep breath, “Since you aren’t a centaur or a prophet, it’s safe to say it’s not.”

“You are cleared to leave,” Nott said. He seemed to be unaffected by what had transpired. “We might have more questions for you, but for now, we’re done.”

“I’ll come too,” Moody said. “There’s someone we’re expecting.”

Outside the Great Hall, in all his green-eyed beauty, stood Harry. He was a smidge taller, maybe, and his hair was even messier. His aura of strength and competence and safety was, as always, breath stopping. He had a hole in his robe. And, apparently, all Egypt had as an International Portkey was an old boot. He looked silly, standing there with a mismatched shoe in one hand and sand flowing out of his robes. But, all that aside, seeing Harry again made a small, hidden place inside warm up.

“I gather you already know Mister Potter,” Moody said. “He is here to help us.”

Tom looked at Moody, then looked back to Harry and swallowed.

*

It was only later in the day, after classes, that Tom got to talk to Harry. Not that Tom was expecting to see Harry sitting down next to the painting at the entrance of his Head Boy Rooms, but Tom supposed he should have. Harry, for his part, had the decency to seem just as surprised. He sort of flailed upright. It made Tom feel a little better.

“Good afternoon,” Tom said and immediately wanted to kick himself. ‘Good afternoon’? What the hell?

“Hey,” said Harry, his voice trembled a little.

Well, that was awkward.

“Want to come in?” Tom asked.

“Yes,” Harry said meekly. “Thank you.”

It didn’t get better once they were in the room. Tom didn’t know the reason for this awkwardness, but wished he could dispel it. He had written to Harry a lot, letters upon letters, and there have been a few visits… Maybe it was because he had expected to see Harry every other time and/or maybe it wasn’t just Tom. It definitely wasn’t just Tom, because Harry was opening and closing his mouth, as if searching for something to say.

 Harry finally settled on something. “Aragog’s missing.” It was not the most inspired choice.

“Who?”

“Aragog.” Harry swallowed. “He’s… it’s… he’s Hagrid’s pet acromantula.”

“And…” Tom said bewildered, “why would I care?”

A beat. “You’re an ass,” Harry said fondly, lips twitching in a grin.

Tom smiled mischievously. “You know it. And besides, you like my ass.”

Harry gave a bark of laughter and, just like that, the awkwardness dissipated. He took a few steps and hugged Tom tightly. For the next minute, Tom could do nothing more than smile and hold on.

“How are you holding up?” Harry asked into Tom’s neck.

“Good enough,” said Tom. _Better once I know why you’re here._

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you I was coming,” Harry said and stepped back. “I didn’t have time.”

Tom gestured to a couch. “What are you doing here?”

“There was an unknown curse,” Harry said and took a seat. “Want something?”

“Dinner,” Tom said. “I’m too tired for the Great Hall.”

Harry smirked. “Should I go?”

Tom rolled his eyes and put his feet in Harry’s lap.

“I’m guessing I’m not going either,” Harry observed and clapped twice.

A house elf appeared, practically bowling over with joy. Tom talked to them from time to time, when he went down to the kitchens or called them in his room, but he was no match for Harry. Master Potter was their favorite human and, Tom supposed therein lay the difference, Harry wouldn’t dream of taking advantage.

“Hello, Pierre,” said Harry cheerily. “How are you?”

“Good, good, good,” said Pierre, with a smile so big that it split his face in half. “How may we help?”

Harry smiled gently. “May we please have something good to eat?”

Tom left the rest of the conversation wash over him as he buried deeper into the couch cushions. He felt so very tired. At one point Harry’s hands moved to perch on his ankles. Tom felt warm.

“Hey,” whispered Harry, “are you all right?”

Tom opened his eyes, but wouldn’t meet Harry’s gaze. He saw their dinner on the table, a few meters away, and murmured a warming charm so they could talk. Their subject wasn’t exactly dinner conversation. “So… the Aurors hadn’t seen this curse before. Why call you?”

There was a longish pause, which made Tom peer curiously, before Harry finally answered, “They thought I might know.”

Tom frowned. “Because?”

“Well in this instance it actually is something that not _everyone_ would know.”

“But they didn’t know the instance, they were just met with an unfamiliar curse and they said…”

“They wanted a good curse breaker.”

With a smirk, Tom asked playfully, “A good one?”

“Fine.” Harry sighed. “They wanted the best. It was a whole thing, because of how I left the school, but they wouldn’t take the next best. They had me swear under Veritaserum that I wouldn’t let my personal feelings interfere in doing the job. I’m here until they find who did it and I am supposed to aid the investigation as much as possible. I don’t even know what that _means_ as I don’t have any real authority.”

Tom barely heard what Harry had to say since his mind was already a whirlwind of activity. He _had_ forgotten something. In trying to eliminate all traces of the event happening, he omitted one place: his mind. So, he reevaluated after this new piece of troubling information: he was still susceptible to Veritaserum, his Occulumency was strong enough not to worry about anything, but there was always Pensive and other Memory Charm or Truth Potions.

“You’ve fought in a war,” Tom said. His voice sounded usually cool to his ears, but it had also a dream-like quality about it. “You have an advantage.”

“I know, it’s not fair to Stevens,” Harry was saying, but it was far away. “I mean even though he’s a hundred, people shouldn’t discriminate on the basis of age—“

No, Tom had to keep the memory, or else he was likely to fall into the same trap again. Or even somehow catch himself. He _had_ to keep it. Taking a deep breath, he said to himself that it wouldn’t get that far. And, against anything Dumbledore might try, he knew spells to counteract both Potions and Charms.

“Tom,” said Harry gravelly.

Tom closed his eyes again. “I’m not upset for the same reason you think I am; for the same reason most anyone would be.”

“You are upset because someone who very clearly singled you out was murdered,” Harry said. He had a serene smile on his face. “In Hogwarts, where the consensus is that you know everything; added to that Dumbledore is set against you.”

Almost violently, Tom sat up. “How?”

“I have the advantage of knowing you,” Harry tilted his head, “and I also understand what it is like to be famous.”

Tom brightened and his lips started curving, only for Tom to lower his head in the hopes of hiding it. Then, he reminded who he was sharing the couch with and the warm feeling from earlier made itself known once more. He slowly looked up to see Harry beaming at him.

“Any other suspects?” Tom asked, bringing them both back to the subject. Just because he felt…comfortable with Harry, there was no use on lingering on sentiments. “Dumbledore? Qusio?”

“I think that it might be pretty harsh for Dumbledore,” Harry said with a fond smile. “But then again, maybe not. And why Qusio?”

“He has that goatee…”

Harry laughed, loud and happy. “No discriminating on personal choices either.”

Tom sighed dramatically.

“But,” Harry said, pinching lightly Tom’s side in reprimand, “I may have a theory.”

“Oh?”

“See, the curse was ‘Concretus refrisco’,” Harry began only to be interrupted by Tom’s hand over his mouth.

“Are you allowed to tell me that?” Tom asked and would forever deny that he was _worried._

“They didn’t make me swear an oath or even promise that I wouldn’t, so…” Harry shrugged. “Yes, I can.”

“You have a very trustworthy air about you.”

“Not my fault,” Harry claimed primly. “Anyway, this curse I only know from the summer we both spent digging into our families. Very few people know about it. It was invented by an ancestor who was a Potions Master. Curiously, it wasn’t even a curse at first; its original purpose was to preserve ingredients.”

So Tom had apparently very good reason not to know what it was. Wait… If it was Harry’s ancestor, it followed he was Larissa’s too, and it alsomeant that Harry thought Larissa might have… “Really?” Tom asked bewildered.

“It’s a theory.”

“Larissa committing suicide?”

“It could work,” Harry said noncommittally. “If she cast the curse on herself, the stairs wouldn’t have considered her a person, but an object, and they wouldn’t have turned into a slide.”

“Still,” Tom said, “What reason could she possibly have?”

“Moody was saying that you had an argument with her several months back,” said Harry wearily. “They think she may have wanted revenge.”

“For an argument?”

“Nott said Larissa was humiliated.”

Tom didn’t even realize when his voice gained volume. “She wouldn’t have done this as some sort of—” He stopped. What was he doing? This was the perfect scenario. They would stop searching. Why would he get angry?

“Hey, it’s fine. I’ll let the Aurors know that’s what you think. Sometimes it helps,” Harry said gently. “And no need to look so surprised at yourself, I know you cared for her even if it wasn’t as much as she wanted.”

Cared for her? What a preposterous thing to suggest! Well, maybe, he admired her courage. And respected her as a person. Maybe even liked how she held her own in Quidditch. Cared? Perhaps, a bit. Not so much that he felt remorse for hurting her, but maybe enough that he didn’t want the world to think that she had committed suicide when she hadn’t.

“Those two Aurors are really something,” Tom said, changing the subject once again, but nudging his hand to bump into Harry’s. “Moody went head to head with Dumbledore. Defended me.”

“As she should have,” Harry growled, then his expression turned fond. “Moodys are always special. Not so sure about Nott; he is kind of odd.”

“Tranquil,” murmured Tom, while spelling the table closer.

“And says the damnedest things,” said Harry warming up to the subject. “He told me: strawberry shampoo. That was it; that was the whole sentence. ‘Strawberry shampoo’.”

Tom considered himself lucky that he had already lowered the table.

*

Tom was going to lunch, mind caught up in his problems, when he was grabbed by someone. In less than a second he had turned around, his wand pointing at his assailant’s throat. But it was only there for a heartbeat before it was pushed over the side of the attacker’s head. It was enough time, though, for Tom to recognize a pair of intense green eyes. And no one else had eyes that color, _no one_. Tom didn’t put much stock in Harry’s claims that he has his mother’s eyes. It just wasn’t possible. Tom would believe it when he saw it. 

Once Tom figured out his ‘attacker’ was just a Harry looking particularly concerned, he relaxed considerably and was, therefore, more pliable to be manhandled into a nearby room. At first dark, the torches on the wall lit up so Tom could see their surroundings. It was the Room of Requirement and the only reason he recognized the place was because it sported some interesting decoration.

“Why is there a huge bed with what appear to be silk sheets?” Tom asked; amusement and confusion warring in his tone. “Grey and red.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Bloody hell,” he swore and got them out. “So sorry!”

The second time around it was better, though not by much.

“Now there’s a couch,” Tom deadpanned, smirk fighting its way on his lips. “Huge. Looks very comfortable. It’s still grey and red.”

“Would you please ignore the bloody furniture?” Harry asked exasperated.

“Only if yo—” Tom began then he saw Harry’s sober expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Harry said in that gentle, but firm tone he used for all manner of wild animals, including but not limited to _bloody_ dragons. For someone who knew him, it was not a very calming voice.

Tom raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, so you know how I told you that I’d speak to the Aurors about your thoughts on Larissa committing suicide?”

“She wouldn’t.”

“Yes, apparently, I did that just in time.”  Harry took one look at his face and he started talking faster, “Apparently, she wasn’t really depressed as much as mad, _at you_ , and they were already considering discarding the theory. Only, while I was there, Dumbledore barged in. He said that if the Aurors were so sure you hadn’t done it, then they should make you take Veritaserum.”

Tom suddenly felt punched in the stomach and released the air in his lungs in a startled and painful exhale.

Up and pacing, Harry didn’t see it. “It annoyed me because he never asked for the same thing for Hagrid or Sirus. That’s how I _knew_ that it didn’t have to be a part of a murder investigation. But both Aurors have no leads and are running out of ideas fast. So, thinking that maybe Dumbledore will convince them then and there, I asked Dumbledore that if you were guilty, why you would say that she wouldn’t commit suicide. The fact that I had the information and had managed to give it to them was incredibly lucky.

“Anyway, while they thought this piece of information through, I said that bringing Veritaserum in would be seen as too much for a kid. Which didn’t go over too well with Moody,” Harry blushed as he admitted his miscalculation, “because she said that she wasn’t interested in anybody’s opinion about how she did her job, and…this is where I got a little desperate.” Harry lifted his chin and you could practically read his determination in his eyes. “I said that in my opinion, abuse is abuse, no matter the job people involved may have, and that if they really cannot find a way of solving this without going through your head, maybe they shouldn’t call themselves Aurors.”

Harry seemed to finally run out of steam, because he said the next part lowly, “They backed off after that, but I don’t know for long.” He shrugged. “There’s got to be a limit at how much they care about words, so I thought I’d warn you.”

Tom nodded feebly.

“That can happen?”

A flash went through green eyes when Harry suddenly tilted his head. “It might,” he said.

Tom had to tell him. He would be able to get out of this because even when he couldn’t count on anybody, he had himself and he did _just fine_. This once, though, this once he wanted to see if all his friendship with Harry actually meant something or were just pretty words. Tom wanted to know if Harry would believe him. Salazar knew, Harry had no reason to trust him, not with everything Tom had done to Harry in another life. But this wasn’t another life, and Harry seemed to be able to tell difference between the two. Still. Tom would always wonder and this was the time to really see, because if Tom had to give their whole thing up, he’d rather do it sooner, rather than later.

“It can’t happen,” said Tom, his eyes fixed on Harry’s. “Because I was there and I modified the spells that say that I did it.”

Harry exploded into motion, violently retreating into a corner. He blinked, and opened his mouth, and generally looked like he was slapped. Breathing heavily, his face contorted in a variety of expressions that Tom wouldn’t know where to begin to disentangle.

“Those spells… that I _taught_ you,” Harry said voice cracking, “were very tiring.”

“They were,” Tom said calmly as if his heart wasn’t pounding in his chest. “But I got some sleep when I used a Time Turner.”

Harry wet his lips. “Why couldn’t you turn back in time and stop yourself then?”

Chin up, Tom answered, “Because Time Turners don’t really work like that.”

“They do.”

“No, they don’t,” Tom patiently explained. It was hard to hear his thoughts over the ‘I lost Harry’ mantra that kept repeating in his head. “You were able to use it because you didn’t understand the full scope of it.”

“Hermione—”

“Saw herself.”

Harry could only get out a noise of frustration.

Because Harry hadn’t asked the most important question, Tom absolutely _savored_ that sound. He settled better on the couch and said, “I didn’t see myself which could have been for two reasons. One, I had already decided at the time I found myself with the body that I wouldn’t interfere. That’s the one that came true. But it could also have been two, somebody had caught me since I didn’t see myself and the murder definitely happened. Remember, if I’d have been successful in changing the past, I wouldn’t be next to a dead body.” He observed Harry frowning for a couple of seconds, thinking hard.

Tom slowly, but surely, giving up the notion of human attachment. No. He was giving up the notion of an attachment to Harry and was weary of the one with Julian. A big part of whatever they built was lost, but not _all_ was lost without Harry.

“So between the two, you chose the safe one,” Harry was still thinking it though, “thus making it a self-fulfilled prophecy.” A bitter smile flickered on and off Harry’s lips. “Like you always do.”

“I am who I am,” admitted Tom.

Suddenly Harry gave a bark of hysterical laughter. “You didn’t kill her, did you?” Tom jumped, not expecting Harry’s leap of logic—or of illogic—while Harry grabbed a fistful of own his hair, face tuned down so his voice was muffled. “But you still cleaned up after whoever did.”

Well. Of all the times Tom had to be proven wrong by fate, magic, or luck, he’d take this one. He watched Harry warily. “No, I didn’t.” Tom swallowed and widened his eyes so the moisture in them would dry faster. “And yes, I did, because—”

“Because you are who you are,” declared Harry dramatically, gesturing grandly. He turned to look towards a wall, but Tom had a feeling Harry wasn’t seeing anything. “But that’s all that you are.”

“Potter,” said Tom getting annoyed, “if you start talking to me about rainbows and puppies, I swear on Salazar’s pink taffeta dress that—”

“You are vicious, petty, vengeful, and spiteful,” Harry unexpectedly interrupted, creating an-so-lovely—but not entirely untrue—image of Tom. “Although I’d really like the story about the dress, I’m finding myself satisfied at the moment with the thought that you’ve never intended to let the real murderer get away without consequences. In fact, if you add those characteristics to your determination, intelligence, sheer magical power, stubbornness and knowledge of spells I almost feel bad for the murder. _Almost_.”

Tom huffed, crossed his legs primly and tried not to preen too much.

“This is what I _know_ ,” Harry said and the certainty in his voice settled something in Tom, even though the rest of him was still swimming in confusion. “What I don’t know is: how did someone force you to do it?” His voice was warm and concerned.

Someone had finally believed Tom. Finally, in all his life, there was _one_ person who worked through a problem and ended up believing him. It wasn’t because he had manipulated them, had frightened them, or even had stacked the deck in his favor and it made the belief taste all the sweeter for it. No, actually, Harry hadn’t believed him because Tom hadn’t said anything; instead Harry had believed _in_ Tom.

Added to that, perhaps meaning less but still worth mentioning, Harry was right to do so. Tom was absolutely innocent of the crime and someone was able to work it out _. Harry didn’t look at Tom and saw a monster._ There was something hot in Tom’s veins; a kind of joy that was so extreme that it made him exhausted at the same time as it gave him the impression that he could leap over mountains.

Yes, Tom would forgive Harry the time it took to think his way through, because blind trust couldn’t compare to this. And yes, Harry had painted a less than stellar image of Tom’s character, but not for Tom. Not truly. The pettiness, the viciousness, the vengefulness, and the spitefulness weren’t weakness for him. They weren’t something he tried especially hard to hide. At least not at first, when he wore them as the badges of honor that they were, tools of his survival. Then, Dumbledore got scared and _Tom learned_.  But Harry… he knew Tom to a frightening degree and, just like Tom had done to him, knew how to see actions that were complementary to his own, not only the same ones; actions that were similar in the purpose, but were Tom’s own. So yes, Tom will trust him with another nugget of self.

“I don’t know,” Tom said lowly, almost in a whisper. He heard Harry’s brusque inhale, felt his twitchy hands move in distress, and Tom decided that he wouldn’t hide anymore. He looked Harry straight in the eyes and admitted, “One second I felt a warm potion break against my skin, the second I wake up next to… the body and the parchment showed I had cast the spells. I don’t know the kind of potion and I wasn’t aware or remember my actions for almost thirty minutes.”

After some kind of internal struggle, Harry couldn’t help himself anymore and put his hand on Tom’s upper arm. Once Tom got used to the touch, he leaned heavily into Harry who in turn gathered Tom in a tight hug. Tom huffed and made himself confortable, while Harry, letting go of Tom for a bit, stole the throwaway and put it over them. It was nice… and cozy.

“And how much time would it take to get from where you were to where you woke up?”

“Ten or so minutes,” Tom shook his head. “More if they had to sneak around patrols.”

Harry hummed. “And you probably weren’t very cooperative,” he said. “That’s not a lot of time left.”

“Unless they planned on killing Larissa and they drew her out somehow.” 

“I don’t think so. The Aurors didn’t find anyone with a motive, even yours is pretty thin.” Harry shook his head, thinking. “I think she must’ve surprised someone. They killed her and found you to cover it. “

“She might have just been cursed when I got there,” Tom noted. “And then either used my wand or made me cast ‘Reducto’.”

“We can’t really know,” Harry soothed. Tom didn’t know if Harry was comforting him on possibly committing a murder, losing his agency or losing his agency while committing a murder. If Tom were to guess, he’d pick the last one, because even if Harry understood him, his morals still meant something. Strangely, that was fine with Tom. “What I wonder,” Harry said, recapturing Tom’s attention, “is why—”

“Would someone have an unknown potion on them?”

Harry shrugged as best as he could without jostling Tom in the process. “You’d recognize the usual ones and quite a few of those who are unusual. There are not that many people who’d have reason to carry them in the first place.”

Three guesses ‘who’ and the first two don’t count. 

“Slughorn?!” Tom gaped. “No. He’s too gullible.” Then he remembered that Tom himself was a hero of the Wizarding World. And Dumbledore was certainly no saint. “Or maybe he isn’t.”

Chuckling lightly, Harry said, “Appearances are deceiving, aren’t they?”

“Some,” Tom admitted. “Not you though. I had you pegged as dangerous from day one.”

“Not for you,” Harry said with an audible smirk. “Are you coming with me tonight at Slughorn’s?”

Thinking that Harry was still dangerous as far as he was concerned, Tom nonetheless went on and answered the question with a question, “Aren’t you going to the Aurors?”

“No.”

“Fine,” accepted Tom. He couldn’t say he wasn’t pleased. “Then yes, I’ll go.”

“Good.”

*

“It’s frustrating that I can’t even guess _the class_ of the potion,” Tom whispered.

It was during afternoon classes and the castle was empty. Harry and Tom were about to visit Slughorn in the dungeons. He had no class at the moment, they’d checked, but was supposed to grade essays today. So, they were moving from deeper in the dungeons, where Tom’s rooms were, to the upper levels.

“You’re barely eighteen,” Harry said fondly. “I’m not worried.”

“Voldemort knew his potions then?”

“He even invented one.” Harry rolled his eyes. “I actually think he knew the Wizarding World’s equivalent of Chemistry. It was everything that had to with death and destruction, but still.”

“That’s a… science, right?”

Harry hummed. “It studies substances and how they react with each other. For example, he knew in what quantities he’d need snake venom or unicorn blood and where to get it. Stuff like that.”

Tom suddenly slapped the back of his palm to Harry’s chest as he was struck by a thought.

Looking at Tom’s hand in confusion, Harry asked, “What?”

“Unicorn blood,” Tom said excitedly. “It was hot, but didn’t burn, so the potion must’ve had unicorn blood.”

“Isn’t that insanely illegal?”

Tom nodded. “And insanely expensive.” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine somebody using it to replace the Imperius Curse, it’s a dreadful waste.”

“Maybe they were desperate.”

“It’s a possibility, but I still think they would have found any other way.”

Harry stilled. “It wouldn’t cost a thing if they gathered the materials themselves.”

“Would Slughorn do that?”

“He sure would,” Harry said with a grim smile. “He did in my world.”

“But if he’d been sneaking around the forest, wouldn’t Qusio notice?” asked Tom. “He’s both Game Keeper and Professor of Care of Magical Creatures.”

“Let’s ask him.”

They changed the destination and hurried. It was gloomy outside, and though he tended to favor this kind of weather, it seemed foreboding right then. Maybe it was something in the gentle wind, or maybe it was the fact that Tom would plan an attack in this kind of uncertain weather, but he reached over and slowed Harry down. Something felt off.

“What’s the matter?” Harry asked, not overly concerned but watchful nonetheless.     

“I don’t know,” Tom answered absent-mindedly.

From the corner of his eye Tom saw Harry frown and, surprisingly, fall into position to cover Tom’s back.

“If it’s not immediately apparent, please let me know when you find why,” Harry quipped.

That trust was determinately tugging at the corner of Tom’s lips, doing its damnedest to lift them up. “Will do,” he said.

Suddenly they could feel a tremble in the air. Like the very air was vibrating. The ground was shaking. What was happening? Then it hit him. A lot of somethings were running towards them.  Fast.

“Obvious?” said Tom absent-mindedly as he conjured a shield to cover both of them. 

“I think it’s pretty obvious, yes,” Harry said, lending his power to the spell, making it glow softly.

It still might not be enough, so they were both tense, trying to be prepared for anything. The tension was growing, bringing with it the calm Tom usually felt before a fight. He was as ready as he could be. A _huge_ spider slid into view. It was taller than Tom was by a bit and the extra legs gave it an advantage in width that seemed unnecessary to Tom.

Was this the missing acromantula? He knew what acromantula meant, but Tom still felt a spike of annoyance at Harry at not having mentioned that there was _this_ loose on the castle. Before Tom could form a protest, it was joined by three smaller ones, though not by much, and, by the way Harry had not changed directions, Tom thought they were surrounded.

“You know when I said ‘why should I care’?” Tom asked wryly. “I wish you could have included this scenario.”

“This is not my fault,” Harry said as Tom felt him loosen his posture, getting ready for a fight. “One, I didn’t know and two, I had no idea.”

“What are you saying?”

Harry looked over Tom’s shoulder in a flash of movement. “Well… The big one—”

“They’re all huge,” said Tom with forced calm.

“The _biggest_ one looks like Aragog.”

“So it’s him.”

Harry hesitated. “Yes and no.”

“Which is it, Potter?” Tom asked idly, annoyance betrayed by his choice of address.

“I know two versions of Aragog, Riddle: Young-Aragog from _this_ time and Old-Aragog from _my_ time,” Harry said in the same tone, paying Tom back in kind. “This Aragog does _not_ mash with the year. It was dog-sized nine months ago.”

“Great,” Tom deadpanned and started thinking about overkill.

“Yes,” Harry said, in a fake cheerful voice. “What’s more, he doesn’t say anything. Aragog talked. Ron and I were scared out of wits and he just droned on. And on. And on. And—”

“Got it.”

“Also, he had many, many kids—hatchlings?—whatever of different sizes.”

Salazar’s tushie, Tom was one piece of bad news away from sending the whole situation to hell it in a hand basket and calling in reinforcements.  “Dozens?”

“Try thousands,” Harry snorted. “More than we had the time, or the inclination, to count.”

“Perfect. That’s just perfect,” Tom said. “Hey, Harry? Would you mind terribly if you watch the barrier while I do something?”

“Sure,” Harry answered. “Wait. What are you going to do?”

“Something that won’t have your approval.”

“Oh,” Harry said dryly. “I was afraid it was going to be something impulsive and generally bad for us, but if you _know_ I won’t approve then by all means…”

Rolling his eyes, Tom ignored Harry and with one eye on the little snake on the crest of his robes, Tom started hissing. **“** ** _Jörmungandr, come! We are in trouble and we need you. Harry’s here too, you need to be careful. Come!_** **”**

Immediately, all the acromantulas except Aragog retreated a bit and started stroking their legs together in agitation.

“You did not just do that,” Harry said vehemently.

“I want to count the acromantulas,” Tom said, ignoring Harry.

“You didn’t.” Harry was shaking his head and started stepping in a circle with Tom. “I temporarily lost my hearing, because **_you didn’t just call a basilisssk in broad daylight,_** ” he hissed the last in Parseltongue.

“Where did you—”

“Conjured snake.”

“Ah.” Tom came to a stop. “He’s very well behaved.” Tom had a grin on his lips and an addition to the sentence, “Much better than Tacitus and you don’t hear me complaining about him. I count ten.”

 “You complained.” Harry sighed, exasperated. “Yes, ten. With Aragog. And, Tacitus does not **_kill people by_ _making eye contact_ ,**” he said, hissing the damning part.

“But he does intimidate them. Frankly, I think you underestimate him quite a bit,” Tom said, a bit absent-mindedly. “As for the other thing, of course not, he’s an eagle.”

Harry made an indecipherable noise of rage. “I know! That was my point. Wait, no. What was my point?”

“That ten doesn’t equal thousands?” Tom asked airily. “If that wasn’t your point, it certainly should have been.”

“Maybe they’re hiding,” Harry said. He didn’t appear too perturbed at the idea and was still, stubbornly, on the topic of the appropriateness of calling in Jör. “Are we sure he heard you? Jör, I mean.” He paused. “And how can he come here?” Harry paused again. “Is he going to go through the school?” And again.  “Are we endangering students now? At this very moment? Righ—”

“He felt me,” Tom said, smirking at Harry’s panicky sounding questions. “And he’s coming through the lake.”

“That’s a relief.”

Tom felt Harry move his head agitatedly or as if he was checking something, but he wasn’t saying anything, so Tom asked, “Harry? Is anything… _else_ wrong?”

“It’s odd. What are we waiting for here? I know we’re waiting for Jör, but the acromantulas aren’t moving anywhere and nobody in the castle appears to have noticed us. What are we doing?”

“Expecting company?” Tom asked.

“It would make the most sense.”

Tom nodded and hissed again. **_“Jö_** ** _r! Fassster._** ** _”_**

“Someone’s coming,” Harry whispered.

**_“_** ** _Fassster ssstill, J_** ** _ör,”_** Tom hissed quietly. 

“I would be lying if I said I wasn’t expecting you,” Qusio said, approaching from Tom’s left. “Still, I hoped.”

“Why would you be expecting us?” Harry was playing innocent and Tom had to say it seemed like a good question.

“No, no, children,” Qusio chuckled. “You wouldn’t have my guardian, Aragog here, if you weren’t coming to inquire about Larissa and her murder in connection with animals.” He preened, impressed with his own genius. Godric Gryffindor _on a stick,_ was the man stupid!

“I’m sorry to disappoint, but we weren’t coming to you as a suspect,” Harry said dryly. “But as a witness.”

There was silence from Qusio for several moments. “Didn’t think of that,” he admitted.

Before Qusio could recover and since Harry seemed to be done with everything at the moment, Tom asked quickly, “Is it because of the goatee?” So it wasn’t the best subject change, but Tom just really wanted to know.

Qusio laughed, “No. The evilness, as Larissa called it,” he flapped a hand and Tom saw from the corner of his eyes that Qusio seemed amused, “that came first. I couldn’t resist the irony.”

“Why…” Harry trailed off, but Tom had the same thought. _What and why were they waiting?_ “Why are you doing this?”

Seemingly delighted, Qusio had a huge grin on his face. “Why am I talking is what I think you’re trying not to ask. For the same reason you are, I presume—to buy time. The potion I used on Mister Riddle still has a few minutes left until it’s finished. Plus cooling. It needs to be fresh.”

“What is it?” Tom asked at the same time as Harry said, “People will look out the window eventually.”

“It’s an incredibly potent potion that calms sentient wild beasts and makes them susceptible to suggestion,” Qusio said, ignoring Harry and answering Tom instead. “Werewolves, veelas, vampires… very useful for retrieving ingredients from them. Forget all about it afterwards. It’s the comfrey added to the….” He shook his head. “Anyway people, magical creatures mostly, have buried the knowledge of the potion deep and tried to make sure it was forgotten, but, alas, it wasn’t forgotten by all.”

Qusio took a step sideways, presumably to fit better into Tom’s line of sight. “You, Mister Riddle are either particularly stubborn, or the reason it didn’t work because you’re not a creature. But you see, it should have worked better on a wizard then a magical creature because you have less inherent magic. I had to stun you, carry you via spell and use your wand. Terrible inconvenience.” He really did look sad. Bastard! “Oh well, the next batch is certainly stronger.”

Trying to get over the river of relief that threated to drown Tom—he hadn’t done anything, he was still in control of his body, he had always been in control of his body—he said, “You think I’m stubborn, you should see Harry.” It came out a little breathlessly and prompted Harry to take a small step back, bumping gently into him in support.

“Yes, yes, our two great heroes.” Qusio sounded unimpressed. “To answer your question, Mister Potter, even if they saw us, they would not be able to leave the castle. I activated an old protection, the doors are sealed shut. It’s a wonder what you learn if you just dig a bit.” He gestured with his hand again and this time Tom couldn’t help but agree, though it did rankle that knowledge like this was used against him.  “Once the potion is done, I will unseal the doors and send you two to fight the whole school while I exit stage left. I’m counting on you.” He winked. Urgh.

Tom had to admit, it was a good plan. Make a stronger potion, attack the ‘heroes’ with acromantulas, making it impossible to sustain a barrier, then splash some potion on them. Send the ‘heroes’ after the enemy, get busy disappearing. It could fail for a number of reasons, but then it could also work.

**_“Jör!”_** Tom hissed as softly as he could.

It wasn’t silent enough.

“Mister Riddle!” Qusio shouted and hit the barrier with three consecutive exploding curses and a much powerful potion that accomplished the same goal, making them strain to keep the shield up. “You’re scaring my pets. It’s the reason I came here in the first place. And I think you’re actually saying something, because you should hear Dumbledore sometime, he thinks you’re the devil. You may have driven him off the rocker, but the man is no fool. If he’s right and you’re the heir Slytherin that makes it probable that you speak Parseltongue.” He smiled coldly and ordered, “I want you to stop.”

Bloody hell, Tom was going to break some bones. “Do you have any more pets?”

At the same time, Harry probably wanting to draw attention from Tom asked directly, “Why did you kill Larissa?”

Laughing loudly, Qusio applauded. “You really complete each other, do you know that?” he asked delightedly. “I killed dear Miss Potter because she stuck her nose where it didn’t belong. I was just about to finish growing the eggs of my undead pet,” he stroked a hand of Aragog’s many eyes, not prompting a reaction, “when I hear a sound. It was dangerous, I know, to do it in the castle, but you understand: my power has never been spectacular and I had to tap into the castle’s magic.” Qusio paused and looked at them through the light blue shield. “Or maybe you don’t.

“I tried to explain it away as a lesson for class and for the security of the castle, but she obviously didn’t think that growing creatures was the way to go. She said she believed me, though, and took off,” Qusio said soberly. “But I _didn’t_ believe her. I followed her into the hallway and asked if she wanted an escort to her dorms. She first said that they didn’t appear fully grown and that she was going to the kitchens. When I insisted, she said that she was meeting a boy. I responded that it was late.” He grimaced. “That’s when she realized there was no escaping.”

Tom relaxed his hand on his wand.

Qusio laughed bitterly. “That’s what she did too, Mister Potter. She relaxed her hold on the wand, just like you are doing now. Like Mister Riddle is.  I knew she was preparing for a duel, so I _tried_ ,” he said pleading hoarsely. “I told her she could go, that I’d even give her a part of my profit, if she’d just…” Qusio trailed off, choking. “If she’d just swear an Unbreakable Vow. But she said that I was doing the wrong thing and I had to stop. A couple of ingredients were more important to her than her life. I _said_ I wouldn’t harm her if she’d just swear it.” He paused, sighing. “Larissa Potter refused.”

Bumping shoulders with Harry, Tom could feel him stiffening. He could tell where Harry’s mind had gone, to his mother and her sacrifice. She, too, had a choice and picked the same one. That was how Harry lived. Of course, that Tom was the one offering the choice to her made things a little awkward, but Harry had already proven that he saw the difference between his timeline and this one.

“They weren’t a couple of ingredients to her,” Harry said quietly. “They were lives of sentient creatures.”

Qusio glared. “And she made sure I never did it again,” he spat. “After she died, I couldn’t grow them anymore.” Qusio laughed again. “So no, Mister Riddle, I have no more pets. I guess she died for a _cause_.”

“You talk too much,” Tom snarled.

In the background, the sound of a great snake breaking the surface of the water and coming out of the lake was deafening. It made the acromantulas dance nervously, and it distracted for a moment both Harry and Qusio. Not Tom. He hissed the bone-breaking curse with such violence that before Qusio had time to scream he was on his back in the grass. His arms and legs were broken, along with his ribs. Not his neck, though. Tom would make Qusio suffer first.

“Alarte Ascendare!” Harry said quickly making the acromantulas jump into the sky. Well, all of them except Aragog. “Diminuendo!” he whispered and aimed at the spiders, probably trying to get them to a more manageable size. “Arania Exumai!”

While Harry was trying to get rid of the other acromantulas, and Jör rushing to help, it fell on Tom to deal with Aragog.

_Confringo! Exp—_ Tom started with non-verbal spells and curses and quickly saw that they produced no result. “Expulso! Bombarda! Bombarda Maxima!” The little—ha!—shit would not go down.

In the meantime, Jör arrived and Tom thoughtJör scared two of the acromantulas, but Tom was rather busy so he couldn’t be sure. Jör might have also killed a couple, it was tough to tell. Another few were killed by Harry, while the rest landed. Qusio was groaning in the grass. However, there was nothing as important at the moment as Tom not being able to stop the bloody undead spider.

“Arania Exumai! Flipendo Duo! Flippendo Tria! Incendio Tria! Aqua Eructo! Ascendio! Mobilicorpus! Immobulus! Incarcerous!” Nothing worked. Most produced the effect they were supposed to until they reached their target, after which they dissipated completely. Must have bloody good wards or magical defenses they didn’t know about. Damn, Tom was running out of ideas. “Bloody—FUMOS!” This time the smoke that Tom was waiting for failed to appear.

“How the hell doesn’t _that_ work?” asked Harry perplexed.

“Undead acromantulas?!” Tom offered while steadily retreating.

“Do something!” Harry shouted as he conjured a cage for an acromantula while stomping on one of the ones he had managed to reduce in size.

“I am thinking!” Tom said from between clenched teeth. He tried to transfigure Aragog into a piece of parchment. No result. “Do you think Fiendfyre is too much?”

Suddenly, Jör was in front of him. He must’ve been looking straight in Aragog’s eyes, but apparently Aragog couldn’t die again. Blast Qusio and his inferus magic, there must be some other way. Then Jör, with an angry noise, whipped Aragog with his tail.

**_“Sssstupid ssspider!”_** hissed Jör.

As Tom was watching Aragog bounce along the grass like a stone skipped on water, he had to admit he felt a bit stupid. That was easier than expected. It wouldn’t have occurred to him to use brute force. **_“_** ** _Thanksss, J_** ** _ör!”_**

**_“Yesss,”_** Harry shouted in Parseltongue while his eyes followed something in the grass near his feet. **_“Fiendfyre isss too much!”_**  He finally found what he was looking for, a tiny-acromantula, and he kicked it away before caging it. **_“_** ** _Well done, J_** ** _ör!”_**

**_“_** ** _Massster is welcome,_** ** _”_** hissed Jör calmly, lazily sending back a frenetic Aragog with a powerful strike of his tail. **_“_** ** _But massster_** ** _’sss friend, Harry, hasss forgotten one.”_**

Tom suppressed a grin and tried to do the arrow throwing spell. It didn’t work, or rather the arrows disintegrated before reaching Aragog. He needed to think of something else.

**_“What?”_** Harry looked around him. **_“Where?”_**

**_“On your tie,”_** Jör hissed, voice as dry as old parchment.

Harry yelped.

Tom shook his head and cast a spell to strengthen his body, then gauged out a huge part of the lawn with _‘_ _Defodio_ _’._

**_“No, it isn’t!”_** Harry accused.

Jör made an odd hissing sound, like he was choking. Or laughing, Tom supposed. **_“Not anymore.”_**

Reticence clear in his voice, Harry said, **_“Thank you, Jör!”_**

**_“You are welcome.”_ **

Hefting the earth above his head, Tom waited until Aragog got well within throwing distance. One more second… There! It shook the ground a bit when the slab of lawn landed and, if Tom was lucky, it transformed Aragog into a pancake. Tom watched on, silently hoping.

Apparently, today was a day for vexation because four legs almost immediately appeared from under the earth, Aragog struggling and probably managing in no time at all to dig himself out.Harry swore and transfigured a spear from a blade of grass.  The good news was that Harry was done with the other acromantulas and was available to help, the bad news was that they still didn’t have a clue as to what would actually stop Aragog.

Suddenly, Tom saw from the corner of his eye a flicker of color. So he automatically threw up a shield to cover both himself and Jör. The idea was good in theory, only Jör was simply too big to cover and the… potion—it was an exploding potion—was too strong. When Tom nonetheless tried, he was summarily blown away into Jör’s coils. He sat up quickly and brought up another shield.

“You brought me a basilisk,” Qusio said delightedly. He was healed, probably from another potion; he had too many of them. It was annoying. “What an unexpected present!”

“He’s not yours!” yelled Tom.

Another potion and this time Tom felt it like a punch in the sternum. But his shield held. Jör was hissing nonsense, distressed and worried, and Harry was throwing a spear at Aragog. It skewered him, from the pinchers through the body and out the other side. Tom could see that it worked for a time, but the undead acromantula could not be killed.

Tom was distracted from Aragog when the next potion made a crack in the shield. Tom dropped and non-verbally built another. _Mine,_ he said to himself. _My legacy. My responsibility._ He coughed up something wet and wiped it off, pointedly not looking. It didn’t take a genius to know it was blood. Tom sneered and pushed himself to his feet.

“Concretus refrisco! **”** Harry said sharply.

Amazingly, it hit its target and made Aragog unable to move, freezing him, turning him suddenly very blue and glassy eyed. Of course, it was the spell Qusio must’ve used on Aragog when retrieving the eggs, so he had no ward or defense against it. And now, that he was an it—an object, and not a sentient being—it would need different wards.

Tom, catching on and hoping he was right, went with another favorite of Qusio’s. “Reducto!”

When Aragog thankfully turned to ash, Tom had lowered the barrier and Harry came within the blue dome. He was in the process of casting ‘Fianto Duri’ to strengthen the shield, which was definitely helpful and gracious of him. But, Tom just didn’t think it would influence the end result.

“Hey Harry, next time when in doubt, look for the man with the goatee,” Tom joked weakly. He meant: ‘Thank you’ and ‘We did it’ and ‘It still won’t be enough’, which of course brought Tom back to ‘Thank you’.  Tom was confident that Harry would understand, however, and didn’t say any of it.

“I don’t know,” Harry said, telling Tom that indeed he understood, all of it. “I don’t think that a man that could grow up to be with a snake nose—or what I could call _no nose_ —can really cast a stone, so I’m casting it for you: the goatee was _not_ a good idea.”

“Shut up!” screamed Qusio and threw yet another potion.

They held.

“No nose?” Tom asked breathlessly and coughed in the crook of his arm. There was liquid on his black sleeve; it smelled sharp, like iron. “I was so smart I put the nostrils of a snake on a human face? Ew!”

Harry slid a worried look his way, before carelessly saying, “And a forked tongue.” He stuck his out to demonstrate.

“Ew!” Tom was mock-disgusted, his tone and body language not betraying his worry or gratefulness. “I said ‘Ew’, Harry. Ew!”

Qusio was so angry, he was almost frothing. “Would you just shu—”

 Jör flicked his enormous tail and Qusio was down. It seemed impossible. They were protecting Jör and Jör was protected. So Jör was supposed to be staying within the confines of the barrier. Right? Wrong.

Instinctively, because Tom’s mind had just broken down in shock and stopped, Tom cast one of the most painful—besides the Unforgivables—curses he knew. Harry also cast a spell. The result was Qusio’s eyes bulging out of his head while he felt his bones freeze and organs melt, unable to move or scream under ‘Stupefy’. Personally, Tom thought it was well-deserved.

“What did you cast?” Harry asked idly.

“Probably better if you didn’t know,” Tom said and nodded.

“I’m sure.” Harry frowned. “Still, what did you cast?”

Qusio fought the power of the ‘Stupefy’, he _was_ in terrible pain after all, and started wiggling. Before any of them could stop him, he had made eye-contact with Jör and was very dead. Well, Harry was the only one interested in doing the stopping and his heart wasn’t in it. Tom didn’t even try and Jör helpfully widened his eyes. Poorly done, Tom was proud of the three of them. 

*

“Mister Riddle, we are going to ask you a few questions to clarify things,” Moody said and smiled. “We have Mister Potter’s testimony and his memory of how the fight went, so now we’re just covering our bases.”

They had Harry’s memory only from the moment Qusio stated confessing because apparently Harry said that was the point in which it became relevant. And the Aurors somehow believed him, so it must have been a lot less suspicious when Harry told what happened. Or maybe it was because Tom _knew_ it wasn’t the full story that sounded like total crap.

Tom nodded. “I understand.”

Moody started, “We understand that Professor Qusio was guilty for Miss Potter’s murder, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Why did he do it?” Nott asked.

Tom shrugged. “He said he did it to protect his harvesting business.”

“You don’t agree?” Moody asked and frowned, making her scar become a thin line.

 “Don’t I agree with his decision to murde—”

Moody put her hand out. “No, of course not. I simply meant if you thought there might be another reason.”

“I’m sure there wasn’t. Doesn’t seem a worthwhile reason, though, since his firing would have been the worst case scenario for the situation.” Tom rolled his eyes. “And no, Qusio didn’t appear to be lying.”

“What would you consider a worthwhile reason?” Moody raised an eyebrow.

Tom stiffened slightly at his faux pas. He wasn’t completely recovered and still tired after his healing, magic wise, so he tended not to pay attention. A tendency he was paying for. “Not murdering a student for a slight decrease in the profits for the next two, maybe four months at most,” he said dryly.

“Hold on,” said Nott. “You seem to have a perspective here that he was lacking.”

“Say Larissa would have reported him,” Tom huffed and explained. “And he’d be in the newspaper with what he did have, reports of acromantulas for example, and how he did it, under everybody’s nose. That’s a reputation. Sure, potential buyers would stay out of the way for a few months, in which he could still sell his potions under an assumed name. After that, he’d get offers flowing in. Added to that, he wouldn’t have a curse on him so he could make as many creatures as he liked.”

Moody and Nott shared a look.

“Apparently, Mr. Qusio didn’t have your business sense,” Nott said.

“Bloody shame,” growled Moody. “This whole thing… bloody shame.”

“It was stupid,” Tom said bluntly.

“It was,” Nott said, while nodding. “It was also unfortunate and sad.”

Moody smiled gently. “But you were right about her. Ms. Potter did something very brave and the whole world will know it.”

“A true Gryffindor. A hero,” Nott confirmed. “She’ll most certainly receive a First Order Merlin, First Class.”

Tom knew they meant well, but it never really mattered to him anyway and he wouldn’t stand for this shit.

“Stop trying to turn her into a martyr,” said Tom steely. “She died and I’m sure she would have liked to live. And at least someone, from her family and friends, would have wanted to have her alive for many more years.” He snorted bitterly. “She wasn’t a true Gryffindor—though she did more closely resemble the ideal than most people—or a hero, or even a bloody Potter.” He flapped his hand. “Since you’ve seen the kind stunts Harry pulls you might not agree, but she wasn’t any of these titles.

“She died,” Tom said perhaps a little louder than necessary, “because she was nosy, and because she couldn’t be subtle, and because she was too smart to be fooled, and because she was a shitty liar, and because she was so direct she couldn’t think of another way, and because she had a bleeding heart, and yes, because she was brave. But Larissa was all of these things, most of the time. She behaved the same when she was helping the Abbot girl with her Defense homework, or when she was pants at bluffing whenever she played Exploding Snap, or when she rescued the mosquito from her goblet. So she didn’t change to become a hero and not all that she did before could be qualified as the actions of a hero. Larissa was Larissa.”

The two Aurors blinked and Moody raised an eyebrow.

But Tom wasn’t finished, “Do you want to take some comfort in the fact that she died so you want to capitalize that she did it in defense of others? You’re looking in the wrong place. Larissa died being wholly her. I personally think that she shouldn’t have let it go this far; as I said, it was stupid. But if she did die, that was probably the best way to do it.”

Moody’s eyes slid to the side, while Nott took a deep breath. “We are sorry for your loss,” he said quietly.

“That’s quite all right,” Tom said. “It wasn’t mine anyway.”

After a pause and an exchange of glances, Nott nodded. “We saw that you cast several curses on Qusio. Would you like to tell us more about them?”

“Certainly,” said Tom. “The Bone-Breaking Curse and the Contraris Curse.” He hesitated a bit. It was a gesture that came naturally at the moment, but would also play well with his audience. “I was in fear for my life and the life of others.”

“We are not accusing you of anything, Mister Riddle,” soothed Nott.

Moody jumped in, “We were unfamiliar with the second curse.”

 “I’m afraid you’re going to have some research in your future for that one.”Tom wasn’t about to tell them he practically tortured a man. “And I don’t know the actual name, it was forgotten, that’s just what I call it in my head.” He gestured vaguely.

“And Mister Potter, I guess, won’t know either,” Moody said dryly. “Because gosh darn he hadn’t ever heard of the curse, are we off our rocker, he asked you, didn’t he? Cue large, extremely green eyes.”

 So they weren’t quite as blind as Tom first assumed. Well, well. He would like to see them prove anything. “I’m sure that Harry would never get in the way of your catching the murderer of Larissa,” Tom said primly. “As he swore under Veritaserum.”

In what was so far an uncharacteristic display of emotion, Nott shook his head with a smile while Moody barked a loud laugh.

Nott studied him for a second, “Dumbledore is at the same time right and wrong about you, isn’t he?”

Tom smirked.

“What about the basilisk?” Moody asked with a chuckle.

  “Jörmungandr,” said Tom and he watched the Aurors mouth the name, “will stay in the school until I graduate. Then when I’m gone, I’ll take him with me.”

Moody closed and opened her mouth twice, making e-sounding noises, before she finally sighed. “ _The basilisk_ is not a pet and we may have to put him down. It killed a man.”

Tom was unimpressed and a little annoyed. One, they’ll have to find him first. Two, they’ll have to find something that can kill him. And third, “It is perfectly legal as it was willed to me by Salazar Slytherin as his heir. If you have any problems with that feel free to take it up with him, I’m sure he has a portrait somewhere and will be very accommodating.

“It was perfectly legal at the time his will was read, so by law his memory should be consulted.” Tom paused to let that settle. “Jör is a bit more than a pet and he was acting in my defense. His and Harry’s, too.” He tilted his head as if considering something. “Also I’m the only one in the world he calls master… so my house is going to have _killer_ security.”

“According to Dumbledore, Slytherin willed it to you in order to kill muggleborns,” Moody said soberly, even though Tom saw clearly that she was fighting to suppress a smile at his pun.

“I’m a half-blood. My father was muggle,” said Tom.

“Still,” Nott said.

“I hate my father, he is a roach of a human being,” Tom said calmly, but his patience was thinning. “Harry has awful muggles in his family as does Julian. Sure, there are good ones, but really… They are a rotten bunch.” He shook his head. “So believe me when I say, I think we’d be better off without them.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately, the very fact that they are in our families and we are powerful wizards means that we need them as a whole. So, no killing muggles because inbreeding is no joke and pure blood families are all a mix of cousins at the moment.”

“That is accurate,” said Nott calmly. Moody tried her best to hide her chuckles, but she wasn’t doing a great job so it fell on Nott to ask, “What if you get upset and suddenly decide to kill someone?”

“With my pet basilisk?” Tom asked sarcastically, his patience almost gone. “Considering that I’m only person in the world who can order him around? And that he’s the only known basilisk. Exactly how stupid do you think I am?”

“Do you have any reasons for not doing it other than your presumed intelligence?” Nott asked in the same level tone.

“I’ve discovered my legacy long before Harry got here,” Tom said, gritting his teeth.

“Your point?” Moody asked.

Tom snapped. “Dumbledore’s still alive, isn’t he?”

There was silence in the room for several long moments.

“Fair enough,” Nott said, sounding a tad taken by surprise.

Moody’s eyebrows were raised, but she was nodding. “You are free to go.”

“Thank you,” Tom said and smiled.

Tom stood and went to the door with unhurried steps. Behind him was again stunned silence. Oh well, he’ll deal with it when it became a problem. He didn’t think it ever will, but it paid to be vigilant.

At the same as Tom reached the door, somebody else was already turning the knob. He quickly danced sideways and with a flicker of his wrist he had his wand in his hand. Who knew what else Hogwarts would throw at him?

“Mrs. Potter?” Tom asked surprised.

The woman in question had the same mess of hair that both Harry and Larissa had, but her eyes were hazel. She wasn’t very tall, but Tom could usually see she was very confident by her posture and walk. Right then, she was grieving and just seemed sad, bundled as she was in black clothes. Tom had seen her multiple times, mostly when he had gone to their house with Harry, as support for Harry who wanted to introduce himself and explain his presence in their universe. This time, though, Tom had gone out of his way to avoid her.

“Mr. Riddle,” Mrs. Potter said with a small smile. “I haven’t seen you around. Odd, as I’ve been meaning to have a chat.”

Tom had no wish to find out why so he went for shock value. “That’s because I’ve been avoiding you.” He beamed. “Excuse me.” Tom tried to walk past her.

Behind Tom, he could hear someone choking—Moody probably—and coughing.

“Always witty.” Mrs. Potter had put her hand out. “It was what drove Larissa crazy, you know? Something she loved and hated at the same time,” she smiled and closed her eyes, a tear escaping. “Did he suffer? Did the son of a bitch suffer?”

There was no need to ask who. Tom involuntarily turned his head a bit to the side as if to look over his shoulder. He caught himself doing it and stopped. Then he straightened and said, “Yes.”

Putting her hand over Tom’s shoulder, Mrs. Potter looked at him with bright eyes and said loudly enough that she could be heard by the Aurors, “Good.” 

*

**EPILOGUE**

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Tom said grandly.

“Tom,” said Harry in his no-nonsense voice, “it’s a castle carved in stone.”

“Yes,” Tom said primly. “Yes it is.”

“It’s huge.”

“And?”

Honestly, like they haven’t had this conversation before.

“The grounds,” Harry gestured to towards them, “are also huge. Do you want to know how I reached that conclusion?”

Tom opened his mouth to tell him ‘no’, but Harry spoke right over him.

“Because it’s a fifteen minute ride atop a thousand year old basilisk!”

“So?” Tom questioned innocently and, because he _knew_ it would annoy Harry, batted his eyelashes for good measure.

“You have a river on the grounds and a _waterfall_ right next to the castle!”

“Jör likes it.”

Harry gave him a _look_.

“Your point being?” Tom asked, struggling not to laugh.

“It’s not _humble_!” Harry yelled exasperated. “Nothing about it is humble. It wouldn’t know humble if humble danced naked in front of it and struck it with an Unforgivable!”

Tom laughed; loud and long. “That’s vivid,” Tom chuckled. “Humble or no, it’s still mine and I can call whatever I want. It pays well to be an antiquities dealer and I’m not afraid to show it.” He stepped aside in the massive entrance hall. It was a bright affair, elegant and comfortable, made up of marble, silk, wood, and glass. “Plus, you can hardly expect me to react in any other way when you always act so annoyed.”

“Jerk,” Harry said and hugged Tom.

“How are you finding New Zealand?” Tom said after he stepped out of Harry’s embrace and leading their way up the stairs.

“Fun,” declared Harry cheerfully, chuckling at the way Tom froze. “We had a feral chimera yesterday, guarding an old Wizarding settlement of some sort. I guess we’ll see what it is this Monday.”

Tom rolled his eyes, continuing up the stairs and to the right.

“An odd thing happened,” Harry began and his voice was too light to actually be light. “You know I was on the fence about the decision to move here.”

Carefully not reacting, Tom hummed.

“And then I decided on Monday to finally do it. So, I applied for transfer on Tuesday, it got approved the _same_ day, on Wednesday I had my papers cleared for travel and Thursday I was here,” Harry said and his voice had an edge. “Do you have any idea how long that should’ve taken? Three months. And that’s if I was lucky.” He let out a breath noisily, somehow sounding amused and fed up. “You didn’t even _try_ to hide.”

“It seemed like a waste of time,” Tom confirmed and turned towards Harry now that they’ve reached the door. “We always talked about how we’d eventually work in the same country. I moved here for Jör and you were still in Egypt. That was fine for almost five years, we were both busy, I had to make a name for myself and you had your work. And I wouldn’t make the decision for you. But since you were coming anyway, _why wait_?”

Harry deflated; his tense shoulders relaxing. “Fine. It took too bloody long the normal way anyway.” A fond smile appeared on his face. “Why are we here?”

“Why,” Tom said mock-hurt, “you’re vising a friend!”

“I meant on this floor, usually we sit in the parlor.”

“In _your_ parlor,” Tom shot back. “You also have a bedroom in the castle, but you’re too stubborn to move here.”

 Harry’s eyes glided over the hallway, while he sighed. “You’re deflecting.”

“Yes, so you can see how vexing it feels when you do it,” Tom said calmly.

“Tom…” Harry said, pained. “I told you, until a few days ago, I wasn’t living in the country, and even now it would feel like taking advantage. Yes, I know what you’re going to say. No, I don’t agree. So, can we just move on?”

Tom huffed, but let it go. For now. “I have something to show you. Don’t overreact,” he said and pushed the door open.

The hexagonal room was made of stone. It was partially carved in stone, so three walls were actually mountainside. Wards were shimmering with protective magic on the floor, ceiling and walls. Inside, on a raised platform that was so heavy with magic it was swallowing the light, sat a dull red stone.

Harry blinked. He narrowed his eyes. Blinked again. “You know,” he said almost absent-mindedly, “that looks exactly like the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“Mmhmm.” Tom waited.

“Why do you have the Philosopher’s Stone, Tom?” Harry asked dryly.

“I made it,” Tom announced proudly.

Whining slightly, Harry pleaded, “Details. I want them. I need them. Give them to me.”

“You know how, a year and a half ago, news of Nicholas Flamel’s Stone being stolen were all anyone could talk about?”

“I do remember that, yes.”

“Well, about that time, someone reached out to me,” said Tom with a hidden smirk at Harry’s impatience. Way too easy. “It was Nicholas Flamel himself, worried about the Stone getting stolen when he had small breaches in his wards. He wanted _me_ ,” his smirk became visible, “to hold it for him.”

“You’re kidding,” Harry said. His expression was a mix between amazed and horrified. “He’s Dumbledore’s friend!”

“And Dumbledore has been known to be biased against me,” Tom said with a grin. It was a tad mischievous. He couldn’t remember ever being this honestly amused by a turn of events. “Plus, I am known to be a powerful wizard, shrewd enough to be a successful antiquities dealer. I have a friend who’s the best curse breaker and a friend who’s pretty high up in the Department of Mysteries in spite of his age. It wouldn’t be such a stretch to believe that they helped with warding my very big property in a very remote place. Also, I have a basilisk.”

Harry looked on, attentive and seemingly highly entertained.

“So,” Tom continued, “I said it’d do it with two conditions. One, that he’d do what I tell him. And—”

“That’s why they said it was stolen,” Harry interrupted. “It was your idea.”

Tom nodded. “It made sense to make the thief believe that someone had gotten it first.” He shrugged. “Anyway, two, that I could study the Stone. He didn’t agree in the beginning, but he came around. Said what convinced him was that I _asked_.” Tom rolled his eyes. “I had the real one for about three months.”

“I remember,” Harry said, “you said you had an important job.”

“It was pretty damn important. Time was short.” Tom smiled. “And you know, once I had the original, it went a lot faster. It only took me a year.”

“And it works?”

“Yes.” Tom knew he emanated delight, but he wasn’t in the mood to stop. “I tried on rodents first. Relax,” he raised his arm to prevent Harry from talking as he opened his mouth. “I didn’t make immortal rodents. Jör had a snack.”

Wincing at the fate of the small animals, Harry studied the Stone for a bit. “Why am I here?”

“Well, I took a sip and thought about giving Jör one. He still wants to grow. I even offered Julian, but he said that he’ll check back with me in a few decades, if the offer was still on the table,” Tom said, taking his time to get to the point. Finally, he looked at Harry. “Now’s your turn. Do you want it?”

“Why am I last?” Harry asked without meeting Tom’s eyes.

“I was thinking of ways to manipulate you into taking it, when it occurred to me that I don’t want you resenting me for the rest of my elixir-given-life,” Tom tried to smile, but quickly gave it up. “So, I’m asking. Would you take it?”

“We’re pretty young, don’t you think?”

“Not too young to be clawed to death by a feral chimera,” said Tom lightly. “Which can still happen after you take the elixir. It’s not a heal-all; it just stops you from growing old, or falling ill, and dying from both.”

“I don’t—No, I _do_ actually know.” Harry turned and suddenly they were two pained, green eyes looking at him. “Immortal, Tom?”

This time it was Tom’s turn not to meet Harry’s eyes. “It’s not about immortality,” Tom said quietly. “Maybe it never was, not even in your universe. I don’t know. What I do know, is that in this one I’d like to be able to control when it happens. I loathe the idea that my clock is ticking and I can’t do anything about it. In a duel, I can at least put up a fight, but old age? How do you fight against something like that?”

Tom made eye contact with Harry. “I probably will get bored of living. Then, when I decide, I will be off to the next great adventure.”

Raising a brow, Harry asked, “Dumbledore?”

“Nicholas Flamel,” Tom said. He breathed deeply. “A choice. Is that such a bad thing to want?”

Harry lowered bright green eyes. “No, Tom. It isn’t,” he whispered.

“And I know I will probably be too slow some day for a spell, long before I decide not to have the elixir anymore. But then I’ll die by my own stupidity and not because my time ran out.” Tom paused a bit. “I want you to be able to make the same choice. Even if that means that someday, you might choose not to take the elixir. Your choice.”

“And you won’t say anything if that happens?” Harry asked with half a smile.

“Of course I will,” Tom answered, affronted. “I will try to throw logic at you, but your stubbornness has shown itself immune to logic so you’re covered.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Harry studying the stone and Tom studying Harry. Finally, Tom sighed.

“Look,” Tom said, “you don’t have to decide now. Think about it for a while and th—”

“No,” Harry said decisively.

It made a nasty hole in Tom’s stomach. His breathing was momentarily heavier. Then he quickly thought about how this was a long shot anyway. And there was still time to convince Harry. Tom would start with the bedroom and work his way up. Yes, maybe he should have that from the beginning, but the plan could still apply.  

“No,” said Harry again as if he wanted to stomp on Tom’s… everything. “I have something to tell you that would probably change your decision to offer it to me.”

Aw, hell. What was it? “What could possibly do that?” Tom asked, baffled. Dark scenarios with betrayal written in bloody letters fought their way from the dark corners of his mind to the light, and Tom barely pushed them back. Not Harry. “Tell me,” said Tom. And his voice was strangely quiet compared with the storm in his head.

Harry lowered his head. He took a breath. Lifted his head, and then pulled his chin a bit further up. Bit his lip. His nostrils flared. Straightened his shoulders and brought fiery green eyes in contact with his own.

“I’m in love with you.”

Tom… Tom had a dry mouth. It was an odd thing to notice at a time like this, but he had it nonetheless. It made swallowing difficult. Then the wave of relief hit him and for a moment took him away. Harry had proven his loyalty yet again. He hadn’t betrayed Tom, he just loved him. Nothing nefarious. No need to jump to conclusions… Wait. What?

“You bastard,” Tom exploded in motion. He grabbed Harry by his robes and crushed him in a hug. “You complete and utter bastard… You idiot!” He shouted, laughing and holding Harry tighter.

“I’m confused,” Harry mumbled.

“Not surprising,” Tom said wryly. “Why would you think that you loving me would me take back the offer?”

“Because you don’t and I make you uncomfortable?” Harry asked, unsure of his reasons. Then, firmly, he said, “I wanted to be honest with you and tell the truth.”

Not seeing another way around it, and not wishing for any, Tom kissed him. He intended for it to be a punishment for what Tom had gone through. And it was in the beginning. He bit, he pushed, he scratched, and he made his displeasure known. But somehow in there, it got _hungry_. And wet. Still fast. When Harry finally responded, it got challenging. Tom imagined it wouldn’t have been a pretty, elegant affair from afar. Clothes and hair rumpled. Breathing in each other’s mouths. Fighting with tongues, and lips, and teeth. Grabbing and pulling closer, always closer. It wasn’t dignified, because they weren’t dignified at the moment. They were _starved._  

They finally broke apart; foreheads pressed together, lips close to each other’s, fighting vertigo to stay standing. 

“You know,” Tom said quietly, “I think I never stopped. It just got bigger and developed in so many different ways that I couldn’t name them. I can’t, even now.”

“I know,” Harry replied. “I know. Same here.”

Tom smiled and pecked Harry on the lips. Then did it again. He finally stopped himself by putting his hands on Harry’s lips and shivered when he felt Harry’s chuckles on his fingers. Taking them off and separating from Harry, Tom lifted his head. He still remained in the circle of Harry’s arms, but he could see Harry clearly. 

“Are you going to take the elixir?”

And damn it, the stakes were even bigger now.

“Yes,” Harry whispered.

Tom exhaled.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to comment (or just talk to me) you can do it here or on my [tumblr](http://e-alexandrescu.tumblr.com/).


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